


Elect the Dead (We Don't See Boys Cry)

by nameru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Leviathan Castiel, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, almost canon, idk what else to tag?, shmoopy, sorry it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameru/pseuds/nameru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leviathan Castiel walks into the water, something in Dean breaks.<br/>(Dean would never admit it, but his world began to fall apart around him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elect the Dead (We Don't See Boys Cry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SinkorSwim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinkorSwim/gifts).



Dean was right on the brink of tears when Cas melted into that lake. However, he couldn't ever let Sammy see him cry over a guy. What would Sam think if he found out that his brother was in love with an angel of The Lord?

Instead, Dean just pretended that he had lost a brother, someone who he cared for in a completely platonic way.  
"Dean? Are you gunna be okay?" Sam asked with his eyes turned down into the puppy look that Dean hated. Dean assumed that Sam was feeling it as well, the pain of losing yet another member of the family.  
When they returned to the motel, Dean finally let the fact sink in. The fact that his best friend, his angel, was gone. 

He was mostly likely gone forever.  
(Of course he wouldn't admit that he cried silently into his pillow, with blue eyes painted into the inside of his eyelids.)

The weeks that followed consisted mostly of small jobs, whiskey, and drawing.   
Drawing what Cas' eyes reminded him of, and the void of space that he would imagine when he fantasized him and Cas together in the backseat of the impala.   
(But he wouldn't admit that his favorite subject in school was always art.)  
Dean thought that the only thing he could do to express his feelings without actually having to say them out loud, and Dean liked the idea of that.   
(However, he would never admit to Sam that he was starting this drawing habit.)

Sam seemed to take Cas' death well, but Dean was spiraling deeper and deeper into a cycle of whiskey, television, and more drawing.   
Once in a while, after he released himself in the shower, he would sit in the tub and let his tears mix with the hot water.   
He would sit there until Sam would knock on the door and say, "Dean, you've been in there for almost two hours. Just say something so I know you're not dead." 

(Of course, Dean also wouldn't admit the fact that, contrary to what Sam believed, sometimes in his dreams instead of a Busty Asian Beauty from his magazines, there was a man with tousled black hair and sky blue eyes who ran his hands up and down Dean’s body.)

Dean grew a beard, against Sam's wishes.   
Dean said that it was because he needed change, a clean slate, covered with facial hair.  
(Dean would never admit that he liked it because it reminded him of Cas.)  
Though he wondered if Cas, who could not grow anything past a stubble, would like kissing a guy with a scruffy beard.

Dean stopped hunting, though he realized that Cas' death should have been more of an incentive to hunt leviathans. He couldn't bring himself to go anywhere without remembering a tan trench coat, and wanting to fall on the ground, and stay there until the time and space consumed him and these feelings that he hates feeling.   
Before, Dean was able to bury his feelings, fuck a girl or two, and file his misery into the file cabinet in his brain titled: "Chick Flick Feelings".  
But this time, this time was different. He couldn't bring himself to touch a woman, like something in his genes had mutated and had made the thought of sex with women just repulsed him. All he could ever picture in his mind were those blue eyes and black messy hair. 

Sam eventually called Bobby to come down and knock some sense into Dean.   
However, as much as Bobby tried, Dean still wouldn't admit to him how he truly felt about Cas. That it was because of Cas that his life is crumbling apart in front of his own eyes. Bobby eventually grunted, "if ya don't pick yourself soon son, you'll sure as hell gunna become of those self-loathing bad alcoholics that show up on depression commercials, idijit." and with that, he left.

Soon after Bobby left, it seemed like everyone had given up on him.   
Sam couldn't take Deans moping much longer, he had tried everything to help his brother, the brother who had helped him through his own loss, and helped both of them overcome their own father’s death. 

Dean remembered precisely the day that Sammy walked out of the motel room, and didn't come back.  
Dean soon after had called all of the remaining hunters he knew who could have contact with Sam, and none of them had any idea where he was. 

This buried Dean in a deeper hole which he continued to fill to whiskey, television, and more drawings of Cas, and now, of Sam.   
Dean knew he was no artist, but it wasn't ever realistic pictures that he drew, it was the colors and shapes that reminded him of his angel, and of his brother.   
Walls and walls in the motel room were covered from ceiling to floor with blue, green and yellow drawings.  
Some actually making shapes and starting to look like things, and others just completely abstract. 

He drew all day, every day, whenever he wasn't sleeping or eating, he drew.  
Sometimes he took breaks to watch TV.  
(He won't admit that he occasionally watched the news to see if a body with blue eyes and black hair had been found)

Sometimes, he could almost swear that the Cas is his pictures would whisper to him, _“I’m coming Dean, I’ll find you soon.”_  
Other times, he could feel a warm air wrap around him as he would began to fall asleep.   
But he always blamed his imaginations on the whiskey he drank, even when they seemed real.

However, the drawing became a therapy when the nightmares began.   
They started a little while after Sam had left.   
Dean couldn't always remember what they were about, because they varied, sometimes he thought he was in hell, sometimes in his home, where a fire was burning. But usually, it ended with Cas dead in Dean's limp arms, and always surrounded by a cackling Sam.   
It wasn't his Sammy, or his Cas, he knew that. But he always remembered that it was his own fault they had both left. 

Everything was his fault. 

Dean woke up one morning, after a nightmare, to find a piece of paper on the pillow next to him.   
Dean knew that he was pretty drunk the night before, but he always makes sure to keep his drawings safe and sound, even when he's drunk.  
On the white paper, there was a drawing. Dean recognized it as the bridge that was behind his favorite liquor store.

No signature, no words. Just the drawing. 

Dean thought perhaps he was drunk enough last night to draw something and not remember it... But it wasn't his style.   
It's was too clean, too realistic, and _good_ to be his.   
Normally, he wouldn't be curious as to who would leave a picture like this, Dean knows better than to follow clues from a stranger who broke into his room… But, then again, it could be Sammy.   
Maybe Sammy found a way to forgive Dean and was willing to give him a second chance.   
(He wouldn't admit though, that he was really hoping it was him, that he missed his brother too much.)  
Dean shower lasted a bit longer than he anticipated.  
(He would admit that he jacked off. However, he wouldn't admit that it was to the image of Cas panting and gasping Dean's name.)  
But he still ran out the motel door in record time. 

As he entered his beloved impala, who had been neglected for far too long, panic began to set into Dean's heart as he drove.   
Dean wasn't even completely sure that Sam was the one who drew the picture, why would Dean jump to conclusions so quickly?   
What if the leviathans found out what had been happening and sent it as a trap?   
What if the leviathans began to work with the demons and they worked together to catch Dean?  
Dean’s mind began racing a hundred miles an hour with worry as he approached the bridge.

But as soon as it began racing, it stopped.

(And Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was sure he felt his heart jump out of his chest and into the water.)  
Because out in the distance, there was a man in a black, faded suit sitting on the edge of the bridge.  
With sky blue eyes,  
And messy black hair.  
Who saw the black impala, and smiled at Dean through the glass window as he neared the bridge.

(And though Dean admits it now, he wouldn't have admitted before that he ran out of the car and kissed Cas full on the lips.)

**Author's Note:**

> Whaat? More sad fics?   
> at least this one had a happy ending.  
> also this is for sinkorswim because she really liked it i think (i hope).


End file.
